


Kiss me goodbye

by Saetha



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, and then lots of cuddling, ha, we have a brief and vague and slightly kinky sex interlude, which I will now call Flangst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:29:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the evening before Thráin (who only discloses his plans to Thorin now) leaves on his journey trying to reclaim Erebor, taking Balin, Dwalin and a few others with him. Realising that this quest is likely to claim Dwalin's and the other's lives, Thorin and Dwalin take a quiet moment to say goodbye to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss me goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> More fluff! Stupid angry adorable angsty idiot furballs, I love them so much. Also: using the word 'madness' in the Durin household usually NEVER works out well (and it's always fun to see how similar and yet how different Thráin's and Thorin's motivations for their respective quests to Erebor are. Maybe I'll write a story one day where I'll flesh that bit out more).
> 
> EDIT: There's now [some absolutely **AMAZING** fanart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3567593) for this story by the talented [Tarasque](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarasque/pseuds/Tarasque). Please have a look at it and leave as many Kudos as you can :').

_Lay down next to me_  
_Don't listen when I scream  
Bury your doubts and fall asleep_

[(Apparat - Goodbye](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaWeCNBaDlc))

 

*  


"This is madness!"

Thráin's announcement to leave them the next morning in the company of Balin, Dwalin and a number of other dwarves had not been entirely unexpected, but still came as a shock. Thorin felt his temper waking up and rising, stirred by the dread he felt at the prospect of his father's upcoming journey. It hadn't taken long for the two of them to be locked in a shouting argument.

His father's eyes were shining in rage at his accusation. 'Madness' was never a good word to drop in their household at any time and that Thorin had just done so, knowing its impact, made it worse. For a moment he was grateful that Dís had joined her soon-to-be husband this evening. She had always hated the arguments between him and their father.

"No, it is not." Thráin visibly tried to pull himself together, but the quiver in his voice still gave his anger away. "It's home, Thorin. _Our_ home."

"Which happens to be guarded by a dragon, father! Does the promise of gold blind you so much that you forgot what happened when Smaug first came to the Mountain?" Thorin was too angry to weigh his words carefully now. The distant look in the king's eyes he had seen so many times in the last few years had been too reminiscent of Thrór's when the dragon sickness had taken hold of him.

"ENOUGH!" Having been so quiet only a few moments ago, his father was now boiling with rage. Thorin knew he could feel the gold calling out to him. The idea of regaining their home for his people was surely in his father's mind as well, but the vast treasure the dragon stole was ever at the forefront of his thinking.

"I will not discuss this topic any further with you. We'll leave tomorrow at first light."

Thorin felt his face heat up at being rebuked like a particularly unreasonable child. With not a single word of apology (and what should he apologize for? For telling the truth?) he left the house, slamming the door behind him.

The evening was mild and Thorin breathed in the lungfuls of the fresh spring air to calm himself. He didn't know what was worse: the sense of betrayal at not having been private to his father's plans or the worry lodged deeply in his heart for all that were going with him. He prayed his father would see the pointlessness of his venture before they all came to their deaths. Balin, Dwalin...he shook his head, trying to chase out the images of mangled bodies on bloodied ground.

_Dwalin should have told you. It was his obligation to tell you,_ a voice whispered in his head. _He betrayed you._

No.

Thorin stubbornly refused to listen to his own poisonous thoughts. Dwalin had done what had been expected of him - to be loyal to his king, even before the prince. Their personal relationship had no place in the matter and he could only imagine how hard it must have been for him to keep such a secret in front of the very dwarf his heart had wanted to tell the most. Even though, a part of him was still seething with anger at everyone involved, looking for a place to vent his frustration.

He knew Dwalin and his brother would eventually come around later, as they did most of the evenings. His mind was still shying away from the goodbyes he would have to say, as if it would suddenly make the likely prospect of not seeing them again more real. For now, the pile of wood waiting to be chopped into smaller pieces at the side of their little house would suffice to busy him until then.

The sun had long since disappeared behind the horizon when he had calmed down enough to set down his axe. Thorin frowned; it was unusual for his friends to be so late. He thought of Dwalin, thought of the scars on his face and body, the piercing gaze, the tender hands and the bellowing laugh that filled the village's taverns late at night. With a sigh, he stored the axe away and made his way to the house of Fundin's sons.

Light was dripping out of the windows and pooling in front of their home. Thorin knocked and after Balin's quiet voice bade him to come in, he soon stood in the middle of the brothers' living room. Balin was busy filling two packs that were propped up besides the kitchen table. His smile was somewhere between apologetic and sympathetic as he glanced over to him.

"Ah, Thorin, I-"

Thorin just nodded and cut off his impending speech with what he hoped was a friendly gesture.

"It's fine, Balin. Really. Can you tell me where Dwalin is?"

Something crept into Balin's eyes. It was an expression that Thorin chose not to think about but which stayed with him nonetheless. He only pointed at the door leading to Dwalin's personal chamber.

Hesitantly, Thorin let himself into the room after his knocks hadn't received any answer. A single candle was the only source of light. Its flickers threw shadows on Dwalin's face. He was sitting on a low stool by the empty hearth, a whetstone in his one hand and one of his battle axes in the other. He was sharpening his weapon with careful, deliberate movements and had done so for a while, if the pile of axes and knives next to his seat was any indication.

Thorin paused in the doorway, watching his friend at his work. Dwalin didn't look up, as if he hadn't realised the presence in his room. All the emotions that he had so laboriously subdued or refused to think about in the past hours now came storming back to him. The quiet sadness that his father, the last of his forbearers still alive, would disappear likely never to return; the anger at him and the fact that he had to be the one to stay behind; and that Thráin would not only lead himself but also all his companions to their deaths.

When he wasn't able to stand Dwalin's silence anymore he walked over to the tall dwarf. His friend's hands stopped in their work for a single moment, then continued, although there was a faint tremble in them.

With a careful movement, Thorin put his hand over Dwalin's, stopping the whetstone in its movements. He could now feel the soft shaking of his fingers as he bade him put his weapon and tools aside with a gesture. The tall dwarf still didn't meet his eyes. With a quiet sight, Thorin gently brought their foreheads together. He had still been angry when he had entered the room, but all anger seemed to seep away from him as he felt Dwalin's pain as if it were his own.

He closed his eyes and let his fingers trail down the side of Dwalin's face, feeling every scar, every part of his features.

"I'm sorry, Thorin, I-"

"I understand." There was as much command in his voice as there was gentleness as he put his finger over Dwalin's mouth and stilled his words. His own lips followed soon after.

Dwalin tensed up beneath him, but soon relaxed when he felt no remorse from his companion, only need and forgiveness. Thorin's mouth tasted as it always had - of iron, smoke, salt and the sweet scent of old wood and pine needles under a warm sun. He suddenly felt tainted, undeserving of such generosity.

Thorin's hands were cupping his face now, fingers curled into the coarse hair of his beard. Dwalin relished the feeling of callused skin on his own, of soft lips meeting his, of tongues exploring the novelty of what they should already know.

Had the first kiss been tinged with desperation and understanding, so was the second one filled with desire, more forceful and leaving them breathless. Lips tingling with sensation, Dwalin finally stood up from his seat by the hearth, turning his body to fully face his prince. Their eyes locked and words passed between them unsaid in the space of a single moment, speaking of apologies, anger, trust and longing. Then he pulled Thorin close and their lips crashed together again, this time raw and demanding.

They weren't gentle, not at first. Fingers too hasty and impatient in their need tore seams where skin wasn't uncovered fast enough. Nails left scratches in their wake as they were dragged across flesh, fuelled by desire and fulfilment. Teeth marks would flower into bruises the next morning, a testimony of the night before and token of remembrance neither of them wanted to fade. They were tearing, biting, sweating, screaming, pressing at each other in a desperate need to claim what was theirs, to push boundaries and mark that which belonged to them alone before it might be forever lost.

Splinters bore into Thorin's bare back as Dwalin slammed him against the rough wooden wall, beams vibrating under the pressure as he pushed into him. His prince had his teeth bared in a snarl that quickly left his lips bloodied as Thorin grabbed him at the neck and forced their mouths together again, muffling his own groan in the other's throat. They were pulsing in a common rhythm, pain mingling with pleasure until they had nothing more to give.

Both of them were panting, faint tremors of exhaustion and the aftermath of their joining running through their bodies as they sank to the ground. Thorin's dishevelled hair stuck to his face in wet strands until Dwalin carefully pushed them aside. His touch which had been so forceful only moments ago was now tender and caring. With no more pressure than the touch of a butterfly's wing his finger travelled down Thorin's neck, across his chest and groin onto his bare legs and up again until he pulled him close and tenderly removed the small chips of wood from his back, not caring about the droplets of blood coating his finger tips. Thorin wrapped his arms around him, buried his face under his hair, hot breath travelling pleasantly over skin covered in sweat.  

Slowly cooling down but unwilling to let go for too long they curled up in Dwalin's bed, limbs wrapped tightly around each other as if to imprint the touch of flesh on flesh onto their very souls. Their hands were wandering, calloused palms caressing skin, experiencing it as if for the first time. Thorin closed his eyes, tried to commit every inch of Dwalin to his memory, the warmth of his body, the outline of every single scar and placement of each hair, the way his muscles moved under his skin. He could feel Dwalin doing the same, trying to map his flesh into his mind, a landscape made of memory and desire. Thorin had never before felt the wish to stop time surge through him with such intensity.

_Don't go_.

The words were on his lips, but speaking them would change nothing. He knew Dwalin had no choice, could not disobey a direct order of his king, no matter how much he wished to. And as much as Thorin ached to accompany his friend, his own place was here in the Ered Luin, governing his people in his father's absence. He wanted nothing more but to drown his entire being in Dwalin's, to keep him close and away from a quest that would likely be his death.

Dwalin drew him closer, only too aware of the thoughts in his mind. His fingers were still gliding over his skin, following the neat white lines of four parallel scars on his hip, traces of warg claws more than five decades old. The stories embedded in their flesh were beyond count and yet he treasured each and every single one of them; for they were proof of the life they had spent together, of blood and tears and happiness. He planted a soft kiss on the back of Thorin's head, feeling his hair tingle his chin and drawing in his scent, adding yet another page to the book of his memory.

Nobody could tell how long they had been lying so close to each other, their shared silence disturbed only by the quiet rustle of bed sheets, breathing and the soft rasping of skin on skin. After a while, the sounds were joined by the quiet pattering of rain on walls and windows, the soothing noise just underlining their comfortableness and shared warmth. Thorin found himself drawn into the steady rhythm, his thoughts floating away on a layer of haziness.

Wind began to howl around the edges of the house, the rain becoming louder and the drops more frequent. Thorin shivered, his treacherous mind now taking the sounds and twisting them into ugly shapes born of his memories and fears. Wargs and orc boots were rattling the cages of his mind, filling his thoughts with death of past and future loved ones. He tensed up, squeezed his eyes shut and felt his hands balling into fists as he slowly banished the images from behind his eyes, one by one. As he opened his eyes again, Thorin could taste salt on his tongue where he had bit his lip.

There was another hand on his now, Dwalin slowly unwrapping his fingers with tender patience, intertwining them with his own, infusing him with his steady warmth. The warrior kissed his shoulder and let his lips linger there for a moment before wandering up to his neck and chin, slowly pushing his hair aside. Fingers still clutching each other, he used his other hand to softly turn Thorin's head around as he bent over and arrived at his lips.

The slightly bitter taste of fear was still in Thorin's mouth, but he kissed it away, just as he wished to slowly wipe the rest of the toxic thoughts from his mind. Never quite as proficient with words as his brother had always been, he relied on the touch of his lips to convey his feelings - another apology for not having been allowed to tell him, for leaving him alone and being unable to stop the wheels of fate slowly grinding their bones to dust.

The grip of Thorin's fingers tightened as the sweetness was flooding his senses again. He felt his body respond to the kiss, arching closer to Dwalin, desperate for the closeness. They let their lips linger on each other, both unwilling to break off what might be one of their last moments of intimacy. When they let go the finality in Thorin's eyes was almost too painful for Dwalin to bear. His prince brought their foreheads together, wrapping his gaze around Dwalin's, infused with desperate pleading and the determination of hammered steel.

"Come back to me." he whispered.

"Aye." Dwalin's voice was both broken and strong as he took the promise and wrapped it up in his heart.

A quiet smile crossed Thorin's lips before he closed his eyes and let his head fall back on Dwalin's shoulder, breathing in the scent of his body, finally allowing sleep to take him on its wings and bear him away.

Dawn was still more than half an hour away when Dwalin awoke. His shoulder and arm ached from Thorin's weight who was still asleep. Dwalin took the liberty of letting his gaze travel over his features once again, savouring those last moments together and unwilling to let them end. Lifting his hand, he followed the shape of Thorin's forehead down his nose and to lips, fingers lingering just a hair's breadth over skin. He wished he had the talent of an artist, to be able to commit the sight to paper to cherish and look at for the rest of his life. But he had no such ability; and so he tried to paint his memory with the colour of Thorin's hair and eyes, the curve of his shoulders, the sound of voice and taste of his body, storing it all in his soul, like a gem to unwrap and be admired inside him whenever he wished to.

He moved carefully, trying not to wake his companion as he slid away from underneath him and out of the warmth of his bed. He was too much of a coward for yet another goodbye. All that was important had already been said in deeds rather than words and there was no need to disturb his friend's sleep. He dressed quickly and quietly in the dark, knowing his pack was waiting for him outside. There was faint noise from the living room where his brother was undoubtedly waiting for him.

Dwalin paused before opening the door, turning around to steal one last glance at the sleeping shape he could faintly make out on the bed, saying a quiet prayer to their Maker for both their safeties and renewing his promise to return.

Then he was gone.

 


End file.
